The Past That Binds Us
by rockenpnay
Summary: Years later, Will reflects on the events that surrounded Sydney’s untimely death and the guilt he has had to bear. Please R


Title: The Past That Binds Us  
  
Author: rockenpnay [Genise A. Mora]  
  
Summary: Years later, Will reflects on the events that surrounded Sydney's untimely death and the guilt he has had to bear. Please R&R  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I know, any of the characters, actors, or creators of the show Alias. It belongs to ABC and all its related entities. Don't sue! I write solely for the pleasure of writing, but I do adore Vaughn.  
  
Feedback: Sure. Review it or e-mail me rocknepnay@yahoo.com  
  
The Past That Binds Us [By Genise A. Mora]  
  
= = = = =  
  
I sit and stare, as I've done for many years before. It's become a ritual, I visit this place at least once a week, but lately I've been coming by myself. Natalie and Nathan used to come with me, but both are filled with the activities of their youth and have no time to reminisce on the past when the present needs their undivided attention. I've always suspected that, besides being too busy, it hurts them too much to come to this place. It hints at a part of their lives that they've never had the chance to explore and never will.  
  
When we're young, we think of ourselves as invisible. Nothing can touch us because the invisible shroud of youth and vigor protects us. How tragic it is to realize, that in most cases, the shroud does not exist at all.  
  
That was how Sydney was. She was a fighter, a brave spirit. But she was also human, a mortal. I had always thought I understood her quest, the demise of SD-6, but now I wonder if I actually understood her at all. I worked so hard to uncover Danny's death that I went too far. I had been such a fool; I didn't see how desperate she wanted a normal life. I could have given that to her, if I had just known what I was getting into.  
  
I loved her. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her. She is present in everything I do. In the morning, when I drink a cup of coffee, I silently salute her. When I'm ready to go to bed, I say a silent prayer for her. They're all silent gestures, and many people are beginning to think I'm going to become an eccentric old man, but I know she hears them and that is what matters.  
  
I kneel before the grave and tombstone. My knees aren't as strong as they once were. I used to be able to run miles, but now a vigorous jog will do it for me.  
  
There are old leaves and twigs that have found their way onto the tombstone. I brush them off. The tombstone is one of the few pieces of proof that Sydney even existed.  
  
I still remember the day she had gone, and I can't let go. Not when I've always felt it was my fault.  
  
= = = = =  
  
He tossed and turned in the bed, restless, unable to find comfort in one position. Finally, he sat up, rubbing his eyes and sighing. He needed the sleep, but it was obvious he wouldn't be getting it any time soon. He glanced over at the sleeping woman next to him. She could sleep through a foghorn, he thought enviously, pulling the covers up over her shoulders before he got out of the bed.  
  
He glanced at the clock. Two-thirty A.M. Much too early for him to be awake. The hardwood floor was cold beneath his feet, the cold air of the house biting at his skin. Sydney had been away too long on a business trip, and he'd felt anxious to see her again.  
  
In the corner of the room was a red leather armchair. It was an antique that he had picked up at a local swap meet. He now sank into its soft leather, curling his legs underneath him.  
  
The moonlight that cascaded in through the window above his head provided adequate light in the room so he could study her. Indeed, it acted like a spotlight, shining almost exclusively on her features. Around his feet were their discarded clothes, having been thrown and forgotten in the height of passion.  
  
She moved in her sleep, sprawling her arms out so that they took up as much space on the bed as she could. When she slept, Will felt like he was looking at a different person. He'd known her for years, of course, but she always seemed to be on guard, cautious. In her sleep, she was peaceful, something that Will knew that she had difficulty obtaining when she was awake.  
  
"Vaughn." She said softly, almost as a whisper. Will was instantly on alert, watching her every movement. For the past few weeks, the same name, in the middle of the night. Her hand reached out and gripped Will's pillow, pulling it closer to her chest as she hugged it. Will was afraid to ask her about it, afraid that maybe he wasn't actually the one who lived in Sydney's heart, afraid that he had never been there.  
  
Who was it she called out for in the middle of the night? Will had initially wondered, but then he remembered. It had been a long time ago, when they had just been friends, when Sydney hadn't seen him in that light. A young man had appeared at the door, his expression worried and he seemed to be in a rush. Will was surprised by how well he remembered. The man had been handsome, his suit suggesting that he was a member of the higher professional elite, and he had asked for Sydney. Will recalled his name. Vaughn.  
  
When she had burrowed further into the covers, Will got up and headed into the kitchen. He passed by the twins' room to check up on them. He heated up some coffee, figuring that he wouldn't be able to get anymore sleep. He took a seat in the dining room, staring out of the window. Sydney would be leaving for Moscow that morning. Business for the bank. It seemed that everything in her life revolved around the bank.  
  
Will didn't realize how long he had been sitting there, staring out of the window, until Sydney wandered into the kitchen. She was already fully dressed, looking refreshed and alive after a shower. "The kids still asleep?" She asked him, pouring herself a cup of coffee before taking a seat across the table from him.  
  
"Didn't sleep well?" She asked, taking a sip as she noticed the bags under his eyes and the stubble on his chin.  
  
He didn't answer her, just turned from the window to face her. His eyes were strangely cold, she thought for a moment, "What's wrong?"  
  
"Who's Vaughn?"  
  
"Who?" She asked, but it was too late to pretend not to know what Will was talking about. That miniscule moment she had stalled, due to her surprise, was enough.  
  
"Vaughn." Will repeated, although it hurt to say the name. To repeat his possible rival's name was like another blow to the stake in his heart. "Do you love him more than you love me?"  
  
And that was when the situation truly erupted. She stood up, feeling angered by having her feelings questioned, and, Will thought, perhaps having been discovered.  
  
"I don't have time for this," She muttered angrily, leaving the kitchen and heading into the bedroom. "I've got a plane to catch. This isn't fair, Will!"  
  
"Not answering me isn't fair!" He retorted, following her into the bedroom. He sat on the bed, watching her search for her boots.  
  
"Look, Will, I don't know why you're asking about this Vaughn or if I love him or not," She pulled a boot out from under the bed, looking at him, "but, please, let it go."  
  
"For Godssake, Syd, you say his name in your SLEEP," Will almost shouted. He had rarely ever raised his voice to her. He stood up, the two of them facing each other like two chickens in a cockfight.  
  
She took a deep breath, obviously stressed. "Will, sit down," She told him firmly. He did so, keeping his eyes on her face at all times. As a journalist, he was more aware and sensitive to emotions and facial expressions that most people missed.  
  
"I'm going to tell you something, but I'll ask you first if you want me to. It got Danny killed." Her eyes were serious.  
  
"Tell me." Oh God, Will thought, she was a drug dealer or something like that.  
  
She took another deep breath, closing her eyes as if to gather strength, "Will, I work for the CIA. I'm infiltrating this top-secret program called SD-6. Vaughn is my contact from the CIA."  
  
He sat there, still for a moment, trying to digest the information. It seemed absurd, yet, ironically, it made sense. She glanced at her watch.  
  
"I have to go," She kissed him gently on the top of the head, "I wish we had more time to talk about this, Will. Be careful, okay? I'll be thinking about you the entire time I'm gone."  
  
He followed her out, watching from the doorway as she kissed the twins goodbye. They slept through the entire time, in their identical cribs, the peaceful slumber of infants. "I love you." She whispered to each one of them. Will almost winced at the words.  
  
She was halfway out of the door before he called out. "Do you love him more than you love me?" He asked her again.  
  
She stopped, turning back to look at him, her hand on the doorknob. She was torn between answers, he could tell, "I can't answer that, Will. I'm sorry." And then she was gone.  
  
Forty-eight hours later, Will received news that the bank she had been in had been robbed. Sydney was dead, killed by a robber's stray bullet. She had died instantly. He knew better. He felt responsible. Maybe, if Sydney hadn't been distracted by what he had said and done, she would have been focusing. Maybe, she would have come home. Maybe, she would still be alive.  
  
= = = = =  
  
I make the usual trek to Sydney's grave, but this time I leave in the morning instead of the afternoon. Natalie is usually on my case about walking, she doesn't feel it is safe, but I prefer to walk. It helps me to sort out my thoughts.  
  
During this visit, I find that I'm not the only one paying a visit. A man is standing at her grave, his back to me. His wheat-blond hair is ruffled by the slight morning breeze. He leans on a wooden cane, gripping the handle in his left hand.  
  
The cackle of the dry leaves under my shoes alerts him of my presence. He turns, facing me, an uneasy smile on his face.  
  
"Hello, Vaughn." I greet him. If I had seen this guy twenty years ago, I would have wanted to pound his face in, despite the fact that he looks like he could carry his own weight in a fight even with his bad leg. Now, it seems worthless and childish.  
  
"Morning." He replies. "I didn't know you would be coming this morning, otherwise I would have left you alone." He came often, I realized then, but made sure that he wasn't there when I was. As if I had more claim to Sydney's grave than he did.  
  
"I heard what happened the day she left for Moscow," He began, "I'm sorry." He was still a handsome man, his face weathered with age, but there was a feeling of intense sorrow that seemed to accompany him, like he was damaged forever.  
  
"How'd you get that?" I ask him, gesturing toward his leg and the cane. When I had seen him all those years ago, he had walked straight and upright.  
  
He glanced down at his leg, smiling a sad little smile, "I was shot in the leg trying to save someone," Vaughn told me. He didn't have to say any more. He was shot trying to save her. He'd gone to Moscow. He understood more about her world and her life than I ever did.  
  
"You have two kids," He asked me, snapping me out of my thoughts.  
  
I smile, "yes, two. Natalie and Nathan. They just turned twenty-one last month. Do you have any kids?" I think of my children, the ones who kept me sane. The last living reminders of Sydney.  
  
He smiled again. Sadly. Wistfully. "No." He moves to the right, glancing at the grave again, "I'd better get going. I have to be somewhere in an hour." He touches the tombstone gently, delicately.  
  
I nod. We don't need to shake hands. It's a formality that neither of us welcome. He turns, leaning on his cane for support as he walks to where his car is parked.  
  
I watch him leave, then I turn back to look down at Sydney's grave. I can only hope that she didn't know she was going to die, that her last minutes of life had been painless, ignorant. But I've always wondered that, if she did know she was going to die, who would she call out to? Whose name would be the last words from her lips as she died?  
  
Would it be mine? Natalie's? Nathan's? I take another look at Vaughn getting into his car in the distance. No, despite how much she loved us, and that I cannot deny, the name on her lips would be the person she trusted most, the one willing to go the distance for her. The one whose eyes, and in whose arms she lay, she stared into as she drifted into the slumber of death. The one willing to take a bullet and risk his life for hers. 


End file.
